


Renewal

by mariagonerlj



Series: Renewal [1]
Category: Little Women - Alcott
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 03:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariagonerlj/pseuds/mariagonerlj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy Laurence is dead. Theodore Laurence is a widower. And Jo March still has her dreams. A Laurie/Jo, Amy/Laurie story. The first of a two-part story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rachel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Rachel).



For Rachel, who wanted a story with Jo, Laurie and Amy, where Jo was afraid to love Laurie. This was an irresistibly juicy prompt and I could not help but write something with a spinster Jo and a widowed Laurie, set in an AU future world of Little Women where Jo never married but simply kept… wanting. I do hope you enjoy, dear!

This is the 1st part of a 2 part story, by the way.

*

"One of these days," Jo began, "I'm going to have to try and make a sandwich that doesn't give a person terrible stomach cramps only three bites in."

It was not the sort of truth, if honesty were to be held to, that Jo truly wanted to admit. It especially wasn't the sort of truth Jo wanted to face in the middle of an otherwise carefully arranged summer picnic, in the middle of an otherwise wrenching mourning period, in the middle of a solemn meeting that consisted of no one but herself and an old friend who had worn so thin that the shape of his skull could be seen as he lay down in the grass beside her, aimlessly taking in the sound of the wind as it whistled gently past the both of them.

Given the circumstances they were in, it was nearly adding insult to injury to realize that her carefully planned diversion-- meant to soothe, surprise and elicit a smile all at the same time-- might fail simply because she was an utter wart at anything and everything domestic. And it was especially galling when she was sure that almost any other woman at her advanced age would be able to arrange a simple set of sandwiches that didn't threaten to overturn one's bowels as soon as one attempted consumption.

Amy, were she still with them all, would have been perfection itself when it came to improving the picnic. Amy, were she here, would have let her sister know not only how to put together edible sandwiches, but also how to choose a better day and how to charm with less desperation. And this surely would have been on _top_ of being able to handle the man currently beside Jo much more delicately, how to make him feel safe and loved and reassured, rather than man-handled by a manic sister-in-law who hardly knew what to do with him.

Amy, Jo knew, would have been so much better at everything that Jo now blindly attempted. But Jo had spent all too many hours realizing and remembering and mourning what had been and what could never be, what she had lost time and again. So rather than tempt anything burning back to just beneath her eyelids, Jo groaned, fixed her eyes on her sandwiches, and resisted the urge to disembowel one to see if the contents within the bread had began bubbling.

"Maybe," she finally admitted nearly to herself, "I shouldn't have tried to use liverwurst _and_ red-currant jelly in combination, and certainly not within the same sandwich. I think I may be about three seconds away from regurgitating them all on your poor lawn, which surely doesn't deserve such contempt."

For a minute, Laurie was silent still-- not that she expected much chatter from him. Marriage to Amy had long since tamed him of the wildness of his youth, had long since moved him miles away from the neighbor next door who would tempt Jo out of her hobby-hole for adventures that might well disgrace them. The last two months, however, had somehow seemed to have solidified his silence, had made him yet more reticent, had made him so reluctant to speak that even when a person directly addressed him, he barely seemed to hear them. Jo had half wondered if even this carefully-planned disaster of a picnic would break through his weary ice, would make him respond as almost nothing else (short of her own pleas and company) had.

But at last, with a weary sigh, Laure replied, though he did not bother to open his eyes or even shift from his weary position.

"Heave all you want," he finally said, and his blind smile, though reflexive and tired, at least looked honest. "Technically, Jo, the lawn _is_ still yours and you may do whatsoever you wish, which includes spraying it with any manner of fluids."

She laughed at that, though she didn't truly find it funny; at the least, however, she liked Laurie much better when he was attempting to make her laugh than when he gone wordless, much better when he made terrible jokes than when he went still and gray and silent. And evidently he agreed, or at least wanted to see what was making her go off like a mad hyena, for he smiled a little more at her general proximity and added:

"No, really, feel free to do whatsoever you like at Plumfield, Jo. Technically, I am merely a renter and you are my landlord still. If you wanted to, you could feed me all manner of mad food and chuck me out of your home for desecrating it with endless moping. You would have earned it, after spending the last few weeks of watching me be an endless pain."

A better woman than the one Jo was probably would have began commiserating with the sincere pain that reverberated all throughout that sentence, soothing all the aches in him that surely went down and deep. Jo being Jo, however, could only think of doing one thing in response to a statement of such blithering idiocy-- she hit him immediately. One quick smack on the upper arm later, he was startled enough to sit up a little and watch her waved her little finger into his face imperiously. And after he had finished staring in shock and was finally _looking_ at her, Jo went on.

"Teddy," Jo said, and poked her finger into his nose for added emphasis. "Keep up talk like that and I _will_ evict you Plumfield. If this is still technically my property, I'm declaring it idiot-free territory and you can't simply be as stupid as you please! You've been perfectly-- perfectly respectable the last few months and if you've been a little-- a little off, it's completely understandably, and I won't have you saying anything different. Don't be a fool and don't dog yourself for what can't be helped! Or I'll-- I'll--"

Staring down frantically at the remnants of their ill-fated picnic, Jo's imagination seized on a shredded piece of paper and the worst fate she could conjure up for him now.

"I'll feed you a battalion's worth of liver-and-jelly sandwiches!" she exclaimed. "Just you see if I don't, Teddy!"

Any other man in Laurie's position, faced with insurmountable loss and an in-law who seemed determined to scold him straight, likely would have told Jo to go to the devil already. But Laurie being Laurie, he ended up surprising them both by granting her a soft laugh, which seemed a minor miracle given his thoroughly understandable demeanor over the last few weeks. And then, shaking his head and looking just a shade lighter than he did before, Laurie replied at last.

"And here I was, thinking this picnic was something meant to _cheer_ me. Who knew an otherwise lovely picnic would be the place at which my life ceased to be?" Then he smiled once more-- a little more sincerely-- at her purposely incredulous expression and went on, voice thawing a bit.

"Besides, it's not too terrible a threat. I practically grew up on your very... ah... _interesting_ culinary techniques. Honestly, I rather liked the sandwiches, Jo... and I believe I hold the person who made them in even higher esteem."

Coming from both Laurie's heart and digestive system, that was high praise indeed. The only thing Jo would have liked better would have been the ability to hear it without blushing. Because of all the things that she didn't have the right to do, of all the things she didn't have a right to feel, of all the ways she was already taking advantage of his ignorance and weakness currently...

To distract the both of them from her suddenly rosy face, Jo made a show of mirth once more, throwing her hands up again carelessly, her laugh a little too eager at the compliment but still trying to seem merry. "Then my thanks goes to you and your peerless stomach for being able to handle us both with ease... though I very much know I should be a much better cook after living by myself for the last four years. Thank God for my decent land-lady! If it weren't for her, I'd have starved to death long before in New York. Really," she admitted, (and told herself that he surely wouldn't hear longing it), "when I have to leave Plumfield again, I will really miss that cook of yours. She really knows how to work wonders with nearly any given recipe."

Laurie laughed as well, though it came out rather joylessly. "It's true, she truly is a good cook-- if only because I've forced her to be. Thanks to me, she's become all too used to attempting to force food on the far too fastidious, which I suppose only makes sense. It wouldn't do her much good to let me fully starve away, given that I allot her a salary."

Jo laughed once more at that, even trying to seem casual as she looked over at him, at the form that had seemed to starve continually since he had gotten the news of Amy. He had lost at least fifteen pounds off his already slim frame since the summer had begun, even with Jo clucking at him over every meal, trying to get him to eat. She'd been in the habit of shying away from looking at him for too long ever since he had come back from Europe with Amy on his arm, and it was a bitter irony indeed to realize she could look at him all she liked only when the March girl he had truly loved had been taken from them unexpectedly.

A bitter irony, though not one that she enjoyed. Not one she could ever be grateful for either. And though it hurt to look at him as he was now, to see how he was wasting, Jo knew she could not look away, not if she were in the least capable of compassion or loyalty.

And certain not if she had any hope of making up for her previous, unanswered cruelties.

It was the least she could do; it was the only thing she knew how to do. And though she knew it wasn't enough for him-- that _she_ was never enough for him-- she knew she had to keep trying.

It was her duty as a sister to both Amy and her husband. No matter how terrible a sister she could be.

So she looked at him and smiled and was as ridiculous as ever, in the only way she knew could still lift his spirits momentarily. It was almost nothing-- it was _less_ than nothing-- but it was all she could do even after half a lifetime of knowing him fully.

"She's probably thinking that it's a shame you're losing those looks of yours so quickly," Jo said, and swallowed at the surprised smile that the words won from him immediately. "Look at you, Teddy-- you're wasting away like some limp-minded heroine from a penny romance! Amy would have scolded you so if only she could see it. She's probably throwing a temper tantrum in heaven right now, in fact. Saint Peter's probably standing by his pearly gates, watching paint splatter everywhere in her rage, and wondering whether he'll have to blow a trumpet or two to get her to settle already."

Laurie smiled again, though this time, it seemed more reflexive, more pained at the thought of his wife and where she was presently. It instantly made Jo sorry she had blundered once more, but before she could apologize, he went on, his voice gentle and easy.

"If she could, Amy would no doubt deliver me a lecture such as could rouse the devil himself from depravity and sin. She mastered the art of it long enough during our marriage." And then, shaking his head and looking determined to appear stronger than she knew he could possibly be, he went on quietly. "And I'm not languishing quite as much as I might seem, Jo. I shan't topple off anytime soon, believe you and me! Apparently it's in my nature to continue on in the face of... of, well, whatever disaster happens to strike. I may shrivel a little in the mean-time, but actually committing enough to death to go through with it seems rather beyond me."

His tone tried for lightheartedness but something in his words sent a deep, deep chill through Jo's body, one that even the warmth of the summer day and the feel of grass beneath their picnic blanket could not dispel readily. Scrambling to respond, Jo found herself staring at him a little wildly, her cheeks once more flushed as her eyes traced the handsome outline of his face, even as her words fell out her mouth fruitlessly.

"That may well be right," she ended up saying, keeping her voice from trembling only with effort, "but it's simply not fair for you to keep shriveling. We Marches have already dwindled down to you, me, and Meg's little family, and if we should shrink down any further with your absence, we'll be nearly extinct entirely! And wouldn't that be a terrible fate for an otherwise grand family?"

The quiet melancholy on Laurie's face shifted a little as he nodded, and Jo went on, desperate to shift away talk away from something that brought him so much pain, something that made his skull draw against his skin so clearly.

"And besides, if you die on me, I may have to topple off myself to get vengeance on you in the afterlife. You renting Plumfield is my only guaranteed source of income should my writing success ever dry up and for that alone, you must keep living!"

A rather complex series of emotions raced across his face at that, Jo guiltily drinking them in. And finally, he ended up raising one eyebrow in amused consternation and said: "So the only reason you're here to care for me is to guarantee your rent money?"

"Well, obviously," Jo snapped back immediately, as though she hadn't flown to his side immediately after hearing of what had happened to Amy, as though the one letter he had sent her after

(_come back_, it had plead, the words blurred by wetness; _oh jo please come back_)

hadn't torn at her heart and lodged in her veins, making her more desperate to protect him than she had been already. "Goodness, do you think I ever enjoy being otherwise with you, Teddy? No, I want you strong and healthy so you can keep paying me... unless you've already given me a generous portion of your wealth in your will. Then you can top off as you please, as long as you shunt no suspicion of it to me."

It was a statement that was at last ridiculous enough to make him laugh, the sound so earnest she knew it was the first time he'd honestly done it since Amy had died. And even as he did, Jo found herself smiling a little madly at him, barely conscious enough to keep her hands on her knees to hold her dress down in the wind, telling herself not to forget and somehow close their distance.

He was only about a foot away from her now. A mere matter of 12 inches. And though she had known him for nearly half her life at the age of eight-and-twenty, she knew it was a gap that could never be breached.

Not in this lifetime. Not after so many years.

She smiled herself at that, as though the thought didn't make her heart clench, didn't make her hands tremble, didn't make her want to do what was unforgivable entirely. And in lieu of anything else to do, she went on, her voice attempting to sound strong.

"There! Now I know you're getting a little better. Only _you_ would dare to laugh at one of my homicidal attempts. It's still a shame about your withering looks, you know, but you might be right about that bloody stubborn nature of yours. And Amy would probably reach down from the thunderclouds and strangle me if I didn't do my best to salvage whatever prettiness you still have hanging."

Laurie smiled at that, the ghost of his former pride flitting across his face, making Jo nearly feel shy momentarily. "Then I shall have to do my best, if only because Amy would find being a ghost and flitting about in chains and pillow-cushions most beastly. She would scold us both if we made her go through as much. And besides, I find I can hardly quit the world when I have you with me. You're wonderful company even when you're jabbing at my vanity."

"But that's why trying to prick that enormous ego of yours is so irresistible," Jo returned, trying (and mostly failing) to not sound too pleased. "You know, Amy would be so upset if I allowed you to saunter about with it unchecked and likely growing nightly. Without proper care, I'm sure it'll get so big that you won't even be able to fit your enormous head into the magnificent halls of my manse. And then where will you be if you have to sleep outside like a mangy dog, my dear Teddy?"

He laughed again at that, though the bitterness in it was now unmistakable, especially to Jo's keen ears. "I imagine I'd finally be as well off figuratively as I am literally. Truly about time, one would imagine. It would be terrible of me to... to have gone through what I have without feeling much more than... more than just... more than..."

And though Jo automatically opened her mouth to refute and soothe, she found she had to close it in just another minute.

After all, she knew what he meant.

She had known if for years and years.

She had known it as well as she'd known all the rest of him in these last few days, in these past few weeks, in all those terrible days that had somehow gone and torn themselves up after Amy's death, after little Beth had been lost hours after she had been laid in her cradle, after everything they had known had been stripped apart and laid back clumsily again, leaving everything ruined, rusted, ugly.

She felt knew him now, as she used to as a girl, when she had known what he had been thinking, what he had been saying, what he had been feeling. When his thoughts had been hers, his joys had been hers, and his pains had lingered in her own body.

She knew him once, before he had left her. She had known him thoroughly. And perhaps this was why she smiled at him now, why she smiled though she knew she could never trust herself with him again, though she knew that for as long as they lived, there was a distance that could never be breached.

She smiled and she spoke again, her voice brisk and bright and businesslike, her tenderness hiding deep within the chiding tone she took currently.

"Don't be a twit, you idiot. What else are you expected to do here? Sometimes, I find it a wonder Amy went so four years of being married to you without starting every day by hitting you upside the head repeatedly. What do you think out to happen to you? What do you think _Amy_ would want to see? Do you suppose anybody would be best pleased to see you wander around rending your garments and gnashing your teeth for something that... that nobody could have foreseen?"

Surprise flickered across Laurie's face again, bare and displeased. And for a minute, Jo wondered if she had misstepped again, if she had somehow once more mistaken simple friendship between them for unasked for intimacy. She was always doing that with him these days: always misreading him, always misplacing him, always mistaking his smallest gestures for something unintended entirely.

She had never had the view into his heart or mind that Amy had had after his marriage; he had chosen the March girl he had for a reason, and he had chosen wisely. And Jo knew it was long past time to flatter herself into thinking otherwise.

No matter what her heart might feel.

But she'd already begun and so, Jo thought she ought to finish, even if her hands shook under the thin fabric of her skirt as she went on furiously.

"Don't insult Amy by wasting away when she put so much care into you already. You loved her and she loved you and... and it would be betraying her if you felt you had to have a hole in your head to match the one in your heart. It would disappoint the both of us dearly... even if the financial windfall from it would benefit me."

Jo knew these were stupid words even as they exited her lips; she could feel their foolish lack of force quickly. It was all she could do not to curse at her inadequacy then and there; all she could do was fix her eyes fiercely on her own long, slender, ugly hands so she would not have to look at him and see how little use she was presently. But in another moment, she felt something soft touch the side of her arm, felt gentle fingers settle on her and press against her slowly.

And when she finally looked up, his face-- gentle, wavering, tender, illuminated-- was all she could see.

He looked, for a moment, like his old self again, like the Teddy she knew still existed in him, although he'd long been buried. And though she wished she could feel nothing more than approval at the sight of it, she could almost feel her heart flutter deep in her breast, like a bird in flight after years.

It was ridiculous; it was stupid; it was wretched; it was _hopeless._ It was nothing next to what it should be.

But when he smiled tentatively, she smiled back, and felt like she had been set free.

"Would you really miss me?" he asked, his voice a little rough. "Even if I perished shortly after writing my will and leaving you absolutely everything?"

"Not at all," Jo replied, and knew that he knew her lie from his answering laugh. "You're a decent enough friend but I'd love a chance at your fortune! Only, it'd be pitiful to see you waste away when you've not even written a decent operetta yet. And you know there's nothing Amy dislikes more than waste, my dear."

Laurie's face brightened a little more with her last sentence, surely with the reminder of Amy. "So you would advise me to force myself not to waste away for the sake of Amy's pride and my own hopes of being an artiste?"

Jo shrugged as though she barely cared either way, though she kept her arm very, very still beneath his fingers, so he wouldn't move them readily. "I wouldn't particularly mind either way, I suppose. Your fortune _is_ very tempting! Though I suppose I might miss you just a little. Who else could possibly like eating liverwurst and jelly with me?"

"I try," Laurie replied flippantly, though his voice still soft and sincere. "It's been half an hour and wouldn't you know, my stomach isn't even cramping."

She smiled at him half without realizing it; he was so close she could barely breathe. "Darn it. That must mean the arsenic I smuggle in isn't working."

He managed another laugh, the sound of it somehow striking Jo as being both vulnerable and sweet. "I switched sandwiches with you ahead of time. Maybe _that's_ why it's not working?"

Jo pressed her hand to her stomach and feigned a gasp, trying not to feel too disappointed when his hand fell off her slowly. "Poisoning? Poisoning _me_? That's rather terrible of you, Teddy, after I've just spent the past few weeks trying to lift your spirits entirely!"

He smiled again at that, and though it took more effort than she wanted, the expression itself seemed sincere. "I am a rather ungrateful brute, aren't I? I ought to be showering you with all the praise I can manage, rather than stealing your sandwiches and making you sick. You've come to care for me in my time of weakness and instead, I deny you my very lucrative death. Jo, you truly must forgive me."

And this time she had to laugh herself, with all of it tinged with surprise, with pleasure at finding that the Laurie she knew still surely lingered inside him fully. "It's not going to be quite so easy to find my forgiveness, dear brother! You're going to have to earn it-- and earn it with some difficulty. Are you prepared to hear of what I'd have you do?"

His eyebrow raised, Laurie looked a little piqued and a little interested... and more than a little curious, which was the reaction Jo had been aiming for exactly. "Hold on, dear fellow. I know I owe you more than I can even say, but what would you have me doing?"

Jo made a show of lying back on her picnic blanket, fluttering her lashes so outrageously, he would not take her seriously in the least. "Oh, and now you're giving me qualifiers to your gratitude? Oh Teddy, your gratitude sours so quickly!"

"Then that's a real shame," Laurie promptly replied, and then surprised Jo by coming down to lie next to her, his body mere inches from where she was laying. And then, smiling a little at her startled face, he went on speaking, his breath so close to hers that something between them nearly mingled while they were both exhaling.

It was nearly enough to distract Jo from his next few words, which contained surprises of their own.

"I wouldn't want to do anything to upset you, Jo. Not when... I mean... not when... well... you see..."

Laurie went silent and still for a second, Jo watching him closely. And then, a soft, defeated smile crossed his face and he sighed, letting his eyes flutter close so that Jo could look at him all she pleased.

"Not when you've been so good to me so far. Jo... if you hadn't come back to Conchord when you did, I... I don't know what I'd be doing..."

"You would be doing fine," Jo answered promptly, sure he was exaggerating. That realization wasn't quite enough to keep her face from being flushed, but at the least, it kept her voice steady as she replied. "And you might be much better off in some ways as well. You know I'm going to be a terror to you in the next week or so, don't you? I'm going to need to put you through the wringer to get you in tip-top shape for what I've long been planning!"

"The plot thickens," Laurie murmured, his eyes delicately flickering beneath that fringe of long, sooty lashes that had always ringed his eyes darkly. "What do you expect me to do? And precisely what _have_ you been planning?"

She ignored the second question for the first, which she pounced on merrily. "Well, for one, I'd like you to step up with your hygiene! You've been absolutely lax with that as of late, did you know? If Amy was still here, she'd probably have you shoved into a giant wax ball and parboiled until she was sure you were fully clean."

Almost despite himself, Laurie laughed, his eyes raising to meet Jo's own, for a moment nearly seeming merry. "Jo, do all the husbands in the world a favor and never consult with their wives on admonishing misbehaving men. Some of your suggestions for what Amy would have done are more terrifying than even she could be."

And then, smile fading although his voice still strained for brightness, Laurie went on.

"What would you have me do, given that you're hopefully not advocating parboiling me truly?"

Given that she'd spent much more time dwelling on this matter than was truly proper, Jo answered back with ease.

"Well, for one, you could try and thicken up a little, with or without the help of liver packaged in with jelly. Given what I want you to do, you really can't go off while looking as though one stiff wind might knock you over easily."

Laurie's brow raised up once more as he concentrated on her cheerfully blank face. "And I suppose if I don't, you'll leave me behind on... whatever it is that you want me to do?"

"Most certainly," Jo replied with a certain good cheer. "And I'll be sure to write letters every day and let you know how much enjoyment I've garnered and precisely how much you're _not_ having. And on top of losing weight, you've also got to sharpen up a bit. For one, you've got to shave that wretched mustache of yours. It makes you look as though you're getting on in years."

It was probably terrible of her, but Jo couldn't help but feel rather amused as she saw Laurie's fingers instantly rise up to his face, shock settling on it quickly. "Er... pardon me?"

"It makes you look like a red-headed walrus," she went on, cheerfully blithe in the face of his mouth audibly dropping. "Or like your jaw is covered with scabies. Or as though you've purposely dyed the hair on your chin to look like a flamingo. Or possibly as if you went and decided to take a pot of paint and..."

"And I'm going to stop you right here," Laurie interrupted, arresting her words all too easily with a delicate finger laid across her lips. "Before you wholly unman me."

And then, after his finger fell away and Jo was left speechless, he of course had to invite her to talk once more.

"What else would you expect from me?"

She licked her lips and reared away, sitting up to gain a bit of distance, smiling archly so he wouldn't see how easily he had unsettled her. "Would you like to hear advice on your wardrobe or have I made my point sufficiently?"

Laurie took a long, lingering look at her drab black mourning dress, which was itself about as fashionable as her usual wardrobe. Compared to Amy as she had once been, Jo always looked ready to stride off to a funereal at the drop of a pin. She could never be mistaken for a fashionable woman, no matter how wealthy from her works she might suddenly be.

"Oh fine," Jo said at last, conceding with a small smile. "I'll admit that wasn't quite fair of me."

Laurie smiled indulgently at her even as he got up as well, mirroring her actions with ease. And when they were finally sitting up together on their blanket, Jo with her eyes determinately fixed on her clouds and his still lingering on her face, he finally spoke once more, his voice soft and even a little hopeful, more so than it had been for weeks.

And she was glad to hear it, though she knew this idea of hers could still be a disaster. Glad, over and above every other selfish thing.

"What would you have me do, Jo?" he asked, and he sounded both grateful and more unsteady than she liked. "Where would you have me go? What would you have me be?"

Unspoken were the words: _Without direction, I don't know what foolish thing I might do, now that I'm bereft of Amy._

Which was precisely why she was here. Never mind that she was not his beloved wife; never mind that she was not wanted truly. Never mind, even, that he leaned on her only because he had nothing left, that she was wanted only out of sheer necessity.

She was nearly all that he had left, and so, she could not even attempt leaving. No matter what it did to her to know that when he looked at her now, he was merely looking a placeholder for a far better being.

She was a better sister than that; she was a better _person_ surely.

So Jo tipped her head back and looked at the sky and said, as though it were wholly painless:

"I want you to come to Europe with me."

***

**Author's Note**: There's a second chapter to this story. Please keep reading!


	2. Waking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jo learns to hope... and to fear.

For Rachel, who wanted a story with Jo, Laurie and Amy, where Jo was afraid to love Laurie. This was an irresistibly juicy prompt and I could not help but write something with a spinster Jo and a widowed Laurie, set in an AU future world of Little Women where Jo never married but simply kept… wanting. I do hope you enjoy, dear!

This is the 2nd part of the 2 part story, by the way.

*

There was a long pause after that; to Jo, it seemed nearly to last a year. It was long enough to make her more than fear that perhaps she had said the wrong thing even after deliberating for weeks before, had asked too much of him once more, had somehow exposed herself fully. It would be just like her, after all, to do her best her to walk a steady path that had only led to her tripping over her stubbornly large feet.

But before she could swallow her words again, before she could pretend that one of the hardest things she had ever had to say had truly meant nothing, he went on, his voice soft and puzzled and sweet.

"Pardon?" Laurie said, and looked so surprised he could have been knocked over with a feather. "Repeat that for me, please?"

She almost wanted to swear it was a joke just then; just a silly, momentary fantasy she had conjured up to jolt him out of his melancholy. A momentary fantasy like every other one she had had of him-- a dream that meant absolutely nothing. Only his voice was so soft and so full of wonder, beneath the surprise that clouded it momentarily. And it was enough, just enough just then, to make Jo hold her fear down and turn to him with a smile, as though the thought of being with him in any way possible didn't make her ache deeply.

"Have you got a lot of wax in your ears?" she inquired, keeping her voice bright in easy. "Because if you do, we'll need to get you something to clean them out. I'm pretty sure you won't be allowed in Europe if you've got clogged ears, Laurie. I bet their standards of cleanliness are much more stringent than our provincial American ones presently!"

Laurie's slender lips wavered at that, as though he didn't quite know what to say. Luckily, Jo had long become an expert at paving over uncomfortable moments with terrible banter and she carried on with it now, trying her best to look bright and warm and cheery.

"So if you and I go off to sail the seven seas to a lost and forbidden continent which I've never seen, you'll have to make any number of changes to your personal routine. If needs be, I can take a pair of garden sheers and try to help you hack off that awful mustache and tame that goatee. And once we fatten you up and get you into clothes that don't droop like a hound-dog's jowls, why, we'll positively be—"

Laurie, apparently still struck on her first words and having missed the merry insults, silenced her immediately by pressing one of his slender fingers to her lips. And then, after his lashes had fluttered down to his cheeks to gaze at the absurd roses that bloomed on Jo's face, he went on, his voice very, very soft.

"Jo?" he whispered, and his every word led her heart to tattoo itself against her breast. "Jo, what are you saying…?"

"You," she replied, resisting the urge to move her lips more than absolutely necessary, to move toward his touch more than she had already. "And me. On a boat. Sailing the seas. Off to a forbidden and lost continent to which I have not yet been..."

His face changed, wavered, became unreadable. Jo swallowed and went on, trying to explain herself, trying to make it seem as though she weren't trying to… to have him to herself, now that Amy was gone.

It was nothing—could never be—so selfish and obscene.

"Because," she added, sharply, "you went there with Amy four years ago, you dodo bird! And because I know you have a lot of happy memories! And because I think if only you go there, you'll remember what was and not what… what happened and you'll be…"

Happy at last. Happy. In a way Jo herself had never been able to make him be but for brief stretches of time that were interrupted by something else. In a way that only Amy had ever been able to bring for him, in waves of connubial bliss, in her arms where they did… God knows whatever they did, excluding Jo neatly.

Her smile dimmed a little, until she caught him looking. Then she turned it on full force again.

This was no time to show hesitation. This was no time to show fear.

"I want to go," she said, and though it almost hurt to keep her smile plastered to her face, she managed it. "And I know you want to take me, don't you? If only so you can remember the past? And if only so I can make sure you don't actually waste away completely?"

Even now, she half expected him to refuse, half expected him to tell her that as kind as she was, she was no substitute for her sister, and could never be. That he would either stay in Plumfield with Amy's ghost… or simply leave to Europe on his own, with no companion to bind him down, to scold him into eating or try to brighten up spirits that might well be dampened permanently.

And maybe Jo was a fool to want to be with him now. A fool, a coward, an idiot, or even a whore, for wanting to be with someone she loved more than she should at a time like this, though she knew it would never lead to anything.

And even now, she was expecting him to say no, to refuse ever-so-gently. Because this was what Laurie was, now that he'd been with Amy. A gentleman through and through, kind to even the worst of ladies.

Jo closed her eyes, waiting for a no.

And opened them, when she felt his fingers brush lightly against her face.

Opened them effortlessly.

"A forbidden and lost continent?" Laurie echoed, "You make it sound as though America was discovered first and Europe a few centuries afterward, which from my recollection is quite the opposite of history."

"Bah," Jo replied immediately, though even as his hand fell away, she could feel the burn of his touch on her skin. "Don't be a twit! Having lost my chance to Europe so long ago, it might as well be one for me!"

"That is true," her brother—brother!-- echoed once more, a soft sort of laugh beneath his words. "And given that, it would only be… fair of me to escort you, having been part of the reason you lost your chance before. Wouldn't it, truly?"

He sounded as though the question was serious; before thinking, before even realizing, Jo felt her head nod and her mouth open and the following words tumble out of it rapidly.

"Of course! Of course it would! And it'd be good for you as well, to get out of this house and into a change of scenery! It would be so good for you to go out to Europe with me. Think of what places we could go, and what scrapes we could go off to. Think of how much foreign food I could try and force you to eat! And the sheer number of new bodies of water I could throw you into if you irritate me too much… I was getting tired of tossing you into the river by Plumfield anyhow. I've done it so many times I'm sure you practically expect it anytime we pass by it currently."

Laurie's lips twitched, as though he were trying to conceal a smile. "It's a surprise every time, dear Jo. I can swear to that honestly."

Jo gave him a hard, suspicious look for a second before she twitched her own lips to hide her own smile. "Well, as long as we're clear."

"As crystal," he promised and then, let himself smile a little, looking a little nostalgic once more. "And… and if you're sure you want to go… and if you're sure you want to share your trip to Europe with someone who hasn't been the... the very best of company lately…"

As though he couldn't say the same for her, as she frantically attempted to make up for what had been lost forever, frantically tried to be a decent substitute for Amy. As though he wouldn't have rather gone off to Europe once more with Amy a thousand times over, if only life had been kind enough to allow him such a thing.

But that had been the way it had always gone, hadn't it? Jo had always had to step up as a replacement for something else, something better, something lost, something irreplaceable, something gone...

Always a place-holder for what people really wanted, for what they'd really like to see.

Not that Jo blamed Laurie, or any of the others. She couldn't, truly. She had never been a good woman, or much more than a middling person. And with both Beth and Amy gone, she was only a good sister to one soul on earth, and that barely counted for much.

With Laurie, she didn't think she was much of a sister at all. She didn't even know if she wanted to be.

But that didn't matter here and now because here and now, Laurie needed her to be. He needed to be her rock in Europe, needed her to be something solid and stolid and ultimately comforting that he could cling to in his time of need. Whatever she felt didn't matter in the face of his pain, in the face of someone who'd lost the love of his life and his child in the matter of a single week.

If he needed her to prattle, she would prattle. If he wanted her silent, she'd never speak.

So Jo lifted her chin imperiously and said: "Laurie, is it just me or have you been remarkably stupid as of late? Clearly Amy was the brains of your family!"

Clearly, whatever Laurie had expected, he hadn't expected this. Huffing a cross between a laugh and a shout, he replied.

"Pardon me?!"

"You heard me," Jo said, looking cross so she would not look nervous. "Clearly, without her guiding influence, you've been getting stupider and stupider throughout the weeks. Why in the world would I even ask you to come with me if you weren't wanted? Are you assuming I have the habit of saying things I don't actually mean?"

A shadow crossed over Laurie's face, as though he weren't quite sure what to say. And it was only after he leaned forward to study Jo's twitching face for a moment that he spoke at last, as though deciding something.

"No," Laurie said at last, a slow smile creeping across his face. "No, you're not the sort to say what you don't mean at all, Jo. So if you've asked me to go with you on your first European adventure… well, you must really want me."

He didn't know the half of it. Jo swallowed quietly.

Finally, deciding a good offense was the best defense, she went on brightly. "Well, of course. Why ever not? I need a traveling companion anyhow and no one could fault a good brother of mine traveling with me! Although the trip shall not be without its hassles, you know. You shall have to come all the way to New York if you'd like to travel with me. I still need to go and arrange things with my publishers, promise them I'll be productive overseas, tell them I'll eventually send them a new volume of Tiny Women, seeing as how the last one made my fortune..."

Good offense still being the best defense, Jo added one last twist, after smiling at him nearly coyly.

"Plus," she continued on, voice very prim, "I have all those swains of mine to take care of before I leave their side for those of the men in Europe. You know how Ronald and Jack and the rest of them get. Those editing men of mine… they can't get enough of me."

As she'd quite expected, even at a time like this, Laurie's eyes crossed with annoyance at the thought of these editorial beings being anywhere near his womenfolk's territory. "Oh do they, Jo? Then I'm sure they'll be heart-broken to know that you'll be taken away from them for… weeks… … months… maybe years on end! Though they should know I'll still allow you to read and write as you please."

Jo aimed a rather sardonic look at Laurie, although inwardly, she was pleased to see the little spark of interest her teasing had poked up from inside him—however much it might manifest as a ridiculous level of protectiveness. Honestly, she often wondered if Amy was ever allowed any outside male company, given how territorial Laurie seemed to get whenever men outside the family were mentioned. He seemed less a brother or a friend than a father apparently trying to protect her oh-so-sterling virtue now.

However, rather than following that rabbit hole down, she shook her head and shrugged. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I'll be sure to follow all your dictates to the letter here." And then, laughing more brightly, she added: "And don't disregard my lovely editors, Laurie. I'll even let you meet them in New York, if you can promise me you'll come and not immediately start asking them how often they're shut into little rooms alone with me."

"After all," she added, slyly and not a little sadistically, "I haven't been proposed to on behalf of my beauteous metaphors for months. I may be losing my charms in their eyes, Teddy."

Laurie's shoulders straightened a little more, and his mouth twitched in repressed annoyance. "I worry more that they've never quite realized your virtues enough, or perhaps they've recognized entirely the wrong virtues, if they truly keep you cooped up in little rooms with them just to make a living."

She had to smile at that. After all, even brotherly protectiveness was better than seeing him in his periodic clouds of wretchedness and misery. She would be happy to provoke him about her editors night and day

"It's a good thing," she added, to tweak him a little more, "that you're merely my brother, not my father. Then I might have turned into an old maid out of necessity and not choice!"

And then, smiling a little wistfully at the thought of the choices she had made to make her unmarried as of yet-- Though she knew she shouldn't regret them, that he certainly had ended up happier off by her actions, that she had made the right choice for him after all, despite her weak moments--

Jo smiled and then gently let herself topple down among the grass of their picnic spread, closing her eyes almost wholly and peering at him now only through the fringe of her lashes.

He looked ghostly that way, like a figure from a past she could keep inviolate in her mind, pure and crystal and clean. And perhaps it was that alone that led her ask her question once again, gave her the courage to speak it fully.

"So you will go to Europe with me? Will that actually make you just... a little bit happier, despite all that's… that's happened here?"

She couldn't even say the words, couldn't muster up the courage to speak them fully. But she knew—and he knew as well—what had happened here. And when he spoke, Laurie's face was soft and sad but resolute—and capable of sending a thrill through all of Jo's unworthy body.

"I'll go with you," Laurie said, and he sounded almost serene. "And I'll do my best to be happy as well, though even… even before I don't think I was as happy as you could be. You'll simply have to teach me all you know, Jo March, about such a state of ecstasy."

The irony of those words could have knocked her down if she wasn't already sprawled on the grass, or made her cry out if he wasn't already going down on his knees to come closer to her, his eyes inspecting her face carefully.

Only, he was so wrong even if he didn't know it.

She hadn't been happy for years.

But this was not the time to say those words, not with him here. Not with him needing her and leaning on her and needing her to be…

Jo smiled, and it was a testament to her four years away in the wider world that it did not wobble at the edges, not even a little bit. No matter how much she felt like tearing.

"If I could whisk you off immediately, I would," she said instead, and managed a smile. "Oh, the adventures we'll find and the people we'll see-- though you must promise me one thing!"

And then she sat up again and tried for a smug smile, waiting for him to (futilely) guess, hoping to coax the smile back on his face through such means.

Laurie did not look as though he could even begin to guess, and shrugging, he sat down between her, so close she almost wanted to move away before she could reach out for him futilely.

There's going to be a European launch of Tiny Women," Jo said at last, when it was clear she could not continue moving. "And you, my dear, are going to be my plus-one. Do you suppose you can behave properly among all these people I need to impress or will I have to collar you as we go through London's fine streets to keep you from making mischief constantly?"

Laurie's face changed at that, going from merely content to actively excited—but then, he'd always been kind enough to feign being impressed by her small successes in her writer's sphere. In any case, he immediately leaned forward and lightly touched Jo's hand with his own, before moving back to speak.

"Truly?" he said. "Oh, Jo, that's fantastic news to hear that they think you could sell abroad as well! This would open up so many doors of opportunity! And if you could make a splash in the London public and perhaps cut a figure of fashion there… or maybe even do something that will attract attention continually…"

"You make it sound as though you want me to turn into a scarlet lady to sell more books," Jo said, trying to sound dismayed although she couldn't help but feel a little pleased.

Seeing a spark of mischief alight in Laurie's eyes was, after all, far better than seeing him look as dull and ashen as he had over the last few weeks.

And though there was some part of her that knew that this was not the best idea-- that it would hurt to take him abroad, that spending more and more time with him than was absolutely necessary would tax her a great deal--

The better part of Jo also knew that this could be something that truly helped him; that there was perhaps nothing better for a grieving mind than to be taken away, to find comfort with a friend, than to be given something to do rather than be allowed to endlessly mull over what had gone wrong, with what beloved person had gone missing.

So although Jo felt something tremble deep inside her at just the thought of again being shut in with Laurie-- for hours, days, weeks, maybe even months, however long it might take for him to heal--

She smiled again, cocksure and bright, more the actress she'd wanted to be since her attic theatricals had charmed the boy next door into thinking he loved her surely.

"Are you going to try and involve me in a few scandals to sell more books, dear Teddy? Shall I need to lay down the law about what I will refuse to let you do? You may as well tell me ahead of time so I know what to start expecting!"

Laurie grinned again, looking more like the boy Jo had once known than he had in years. "So… you're saying you won't run wild if I ask you to? Or even if I join you?"

Jo groaned, as though she weren't in the least tempted. "On no! Spare me from that fate, and from having to garnish some lawyer's fees!"

"I bet I could," Laurie went on, voice reasonable. "I've always been able to get you to, save for once maybe. And look, I've already got you sitting barefoot in the garden. What will you do next, if we continue to carry on like this?"

Jo smiled, although she knew she would never say the first words that sprung to her mind at the thought of what it would mean to truly go wild with him. It was a good thing her cheeks were already red from the summer's heat, and even an additional blush could be played off as merely a result of the wind.

"I'm not sure but it would probably involve far more muskets than is healthy," Jo finally said, laughing again.

And then, making a face and spreading her hands into the soil to feel the good, solid dirt beneath them both-- to root herself into Amy's lost paradise, to make sure she didn't do something that would greatly embarrass the both of them-- Jo went on, more seriously.

"Truth be told, although I make it sound like a grand adventure, I would have to work as well, Teddy-- and sadly, you'd have to help me at it. My publishers in New York have realized that I'm already the sort to run wild and that the most they can do is try to eventually lasso me back to respectability. But my future publishers in London, on the other hand..."

Jo made a face, sticking out her tongue until she looked rather like a cross-eyed lemur.

"It's the firm of Vaughn and Vaughn, and apparently, they're expecting a great many things of me... including being a proper gentlewoman. Far from needing to be corralled, you may have to do the corralling!"

"Never fear!" Laurie said, with a gallant flourish of his hand, even as he lay back against the picnic blanket, so close to her it sent her face flaming. "I'll be sure to keep you on the up and up, but you might want to ask Meg to give me some lessons first. Say, Vaughn and Vaughn wouldn't be owned by a rascal named Fred, who cheats at cricket, would it?"

She kicked him almost reflexively for making her think of what Meg would look do if she learned that her little sister needed lessons in being a lady, eliciting a yelp from Laurie even as she frowned thoughtfully and tried to think about precisely what the publishing firm of Vaughn and Vaughn might consist of exactly.

Finally, after combing through her memories and coming up a little blank, Jo shrugged, although she poked sharply at Laurie with her foot against his ankle when he looked as though he might start saying something about the literary men she was constantly meeting.

"Don't you start, Theodore Laurence," Jo began, a little menacingly. "The only reason I didn't pound you previously was because I knew Amy wouldn't like it but you're a widower now and that means that I can hit you all I please."

And then she went on, unwittingly asking him to start.

"And... Fred Vaughn? I... I think I remember the name. Wasn't he... oh lord, I can barely recall after all these years... wasn't he that insufferable college friend of yours that went around making me kick at the shrubbery when he came to visit us? You used to have a gaggle of them and they'd always spend hours bothering me before falling in love with Amy..."

Jo had to smile a little at that. "That's the general pattern with men, apparently. Is he truly going to be my publisher, you think?"

"Could be," Laurie said dismissively, "Name's right, anyway. Tell you what, I'll... what was it Meg did, raise her eyebrows?" He propped himself up on one elbow, and waggled his eyebrows with more gusto than she was recently accustomed to seeing, "Here, I'll do this, if you come anywhere near a single leaf of shrubbery. Save the innocent plants a hard time, at any rate. Sometimes the people who make you angry truly deserve your wrath, Jo. Those vile publishing men of yours in particular."

Jo gave him a look that made her skepticism of his motives very, very clear.

"Yes, but those vile publishing men aren't around, are they? Although I keep getting letters from them constantly... and the last time I did so, I was forwarded yet another marriage proposal from some deranged fan of mine."

She paused to look disturbed, which fully reflected her state of mind.

"Honestly, it's nice and all to feel wanted but not so pleasant to realize that I've become the targets of either mad-men or deranged fortune hunters who don't have a clue about who I really am. Yet another reason to take you with me to London, Teddy. You can help me beat the whole of them off with a stick, if good old Vaughn and Vaughn can't do as much for me. I can only hope your old friend-- if that is who he is!-- doesn't skimp out on protecting me during public events."

"What have you done without me all these years?" Laurie asked, wonderingly. "And do you really bring weaponry to all of your public events? If you want me to play the boar, Jo, I'll do it for you. Only, you ought to tell me ahead of time of what violence will be commencing!"

"But that would take the fun out of it," Jo said, unable to keep from grinning back. "And you'll have to be a boar in the public and a lady's tutor in private. So you'll be playing a dual role, Teddy-- and have twice the responsibilities."

And twice the reasons to finish grieving for Amy properly, and to get over the pain of having lost the love of his life.

And twice the reasons for leaving Jo behind after all was said and done, thinking again of her merely as a friend and not a vital life-line, finding some other woman to take up his energy and his affection and his trust and his time...

But she wasn't going to be selfish here. Never and not with him here.

So Jo took a deep breath and smiled before continuing on fiercely.

"I'm going to make you miserable, Mr. Theodore Laurence. I'm going to force you up at eight in the morning in strange lands and have you decide what I should wear and how I should do my hair and even when I should bathe daily. I'm going to make you teach me the proper etiquette of a dinner party, and how not to use my awful elbows to shatter china constantly, and how to get along with people who didn't grow up used to my bizarre nervous tics and tyrannies. I'm going to make you take me out, and pretend not to be embarrassed when I backslide eventually, and be all forthright and manly and square of jaw no matter what foolishness I might venture into eventually. And worse comes to worse, I'm going to make you serve as a human shield if any of the more deranged men I meet on a daily basis actually make yet another attempt on me."

Jo leaned forward, taking a minute to study his perfectly cheerfully face, trying to see if any cracks were forming.

That it brought her to a distance where she could have-- if she had the right-- kissed him was immaterial, surely.

"I am going to work you harder than a red-headed step-child, Teddy. Are you truly sure you want to go with me?"

And after a pause in which he seemed to decide not to move away, Laurie responded sincerely, if not honestly.

(Surely not honestly.)

"You always have been the best sort of medicine for me, dear Jo. I'm sure you'll know just what to do with me."

He was so close; an inch more and their lips could have met, softly, tenderly, sufficiently.

A memory ran through her mind, wild and fragmented; the way he had felt when he had pressed himself to her for the first and only time so many years back, in the forest grove where he had proposed, the glen that lay less than a mile away from where they were presently.

She could remember the way he had felt and smiled. She could remember the taste of his lips, and the texture of his flushed cheeks. She could remember the imprints his fingers had left on her upper arm from holding her too close, and the warmth of his body as he had pulled her to him, inexorable and fleet.

It had been nearly a decade ago; she had thought she had almost buried it; but it came back to her, wild and taunting, not exiled for all the ways she had tried to forget it previously.

But then, no matter how hard she tried to forget that moment and her own heart, she could only remember them more dearly.

It had been a long, long time since she had been touched, and especially like that. It had been a long time indeed. She didn't like the hands of others on her, most of the time; couldn't stand the bustle and disturbances of the city. And even during that short time when she and Fritz had been engaged, she had found it… hard to allow him liberties. Not when Fritz's every embrace had merely reminded her more and more dearly of her Teddy, lost to her in the past years.

But when it was just Laurie, merely the two of them and no other, when they seemed enclosed in a world all their own that was so much more pleasant than any other that Jo had ever seen...

It was all just an illusion, Jo knew; her own pathetic, drab imagining. And for all that her imagination had given her-- her fortune, her fame, her art as a consolation-- it could turn on her so, so very easily.

But she kept close to him now anyway, despite everything. And though she knew she shouldn't, she could not let herself slip away, could not allow herself to disturb this strange moment of looking and not speaking.

He was still the man she loved despite wanting to and the damned thing was, he would always be.

"So you'll come with me?" Jo asked, finally, because she needed something to say. "You'll come away with me?"

And when he smiled in return, she felt as though her heart had been set on fire spontaneously.

"To the ends of the earth," he replied, sounding as though he were nearly sincere.

"Or something like it," Jo said, knowing this was not nearly an end, only a very strange beginning.

*

**Author's Note**:

Will Jo ever confess her love?

Will Laurie ever accept it?

Will Fred Vaughn ever appear and snag a March daughter of his own, having done his own grieving for Amy?

Heck if I know... I haven't written the next few chapters yet. But if this series continues on beyond this tentative ending, I suppose we'll have to see. ;)

Reviews and ideas for future directions are much appreciated, by the way!


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